Page 148 of Songbird: Black Kite
Sheriff Donovan started talking again, placing blame on anyone and everyone but himself, but Hawk cut him off.
“I think it’s time you left, Sheriff. Your services won’t be required here again here.”
“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” Donovan griped, one hand dropping to his gun belt. “I’ve been sheriff in this town for over thirty years. Who’re you gonna believe? Me, or some dumb slut who couldn’t keep her legs closed long enough to—”
Hawk moved like lightning, pushing Cooper toward me as he dove for Donovan, eyes wild as he reached for the sheriff, one hand encircling his pudgy throat.
“The fuck you say?”
“Hawk,” Charlie said, a warning in his voice, though he made no move to intervene.
“You think you can come here, talking like that about my woman? Aboutanywoman?” Donovan could only choke and splutter as Hawk continued to squeeze. “You fuckin’ prick. Struttin’ around this town like you’re the king. You think because you have a gun and a car with shiny lights on top, you have any kind of power?” Leaning down, Hawk got in Donovan’s face, breathing heavily as he raged. “Say one more word about Wren. I fuckin’ dare you. Then I’ll show you what real power looks like, you spineless piece of shit.”
Releasing him, Hawk took a step back, glaring at the sheriff as he wheezed for breath. Once his face had returned to a much more normal looking shade, Donovan straightened his hat and looked around, trying to regain his former sense of pride, but not quite managing.
“I don’t know how things are done out in Hollywood, but in this town, a move like that will cost you.” Swinging his gaze to me, Donovan spat, “You’re nothing but trouble, Wren Blackburn. Just like your piece-of-shit daddy.”
“Have a nice night, Sheriff,” Charlie said, stepping in front of Hawk when he made to lunge for the Sheriff again.
“Go fuck yourself, city boy,” Donovan replied, spitting on the grass between Charlie’s feet.
We all stared as Donovan turned, tail tucked between his legs, and climbed back into his cruiser, killing the lights and driving off into the night.
“Is this town always so fuckin’ exciting?” Alex asked, hands on his hips as he watched the cruiser disappear down the street. “Because at leastthatwould explain why you’re still living here.”
“It’s not,” Cooper said, her smile huge as she stood beside Hawk, her gaze darting from one of the guys to the other as though she couldn’t believe they were all standing in our yard. “It’s not exciting atall.”
I couldn’t believe it either, actually, and my head throbbed from trying to make sense of it all.
“Well, then,” Alex said, turning to her with an equally large grin on his face. “Maybe it’s time to talk about other options, Coop. How about you take your Uncle Alex inside and show me around. Your dad said you’ve got some posters on your walls that aren’t of us, and I’m not sure I could handle that if it were true.”
With that, the two of them disappeared inside, leaving me gaping after them as they barreled down the hall.
“I’ll go keep an eye on them,” Gavin offered.
“Cooper doesn’t need a babysitter.” I didn’t want Gavin—or anyone else—thinking they were obligated to look after my child.
“No, but Alex does. Nice to see you again, Wren.”
Once he was gone, I stared at Hawk, and of the millions of questions that had been rolling around in my head for days, only one managed to make its way to the surface.
“Why are you here?”
Chapter eighty-three
Hawk
Present
Istaredather,knowing she deserved an answer, but not exactly sure where to begin. Licking my dry lips, I racked my brain for what to say, knowing my time was running out.
I had to get this right. I couldn’t let myself put my foot in my mouth this time.
There was too much hanging in the balance.
“I’m gonna stay out here,” Charlie cut in pointedly. “Keep an eye on things. Why don’t you two talk inside.”
Blowing out a relieved breath, I gave Charlie a grateful slap on the back before ushering Wren into the house and closing the door. I could hear Alex and Cooper down the hall, laughing together as one of them strummed on her guitar. The sound warmed me and wounded me at the same time, because this was the kind of thing my daughter deserved. Having people in her life who cherished and nurtured her. People who didn’t see her as a pariah or the bastard child of rock and roll’s washed-up bad boy.
